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Friday, January 31, 2014

An Irish Oatmeal Blessing

I recently experienced a little bit of food Nirvana in a
place I never would have expected: The Au Bon Pain that’s located in the lobby
of Boston Children’s Hospital.

It was Friday morning, and I’d been holed up in my daughter,
Chloe’s, hospital room for days, barely leaving her side since she had major spinal
cord surgery on Tuesday.

A quiet was blanketing the hospital; it was the kind of calm,
still, hush that comes with early morning snowfall. Outside, a winter storm was
busy dumping more than a foot of snow on the city. For once, Chloe was sleeping
soundly. For once, no nurse was hurrying into the room to take her temperature
or give her morphine.

And for the first time in days, I found myself unafraid. It
had been such a long three days of Chloe being miserable, sick, feverish, in
pain, sleeping fitfully, panicking and calling for me if I strayed too far from
her bedside. I’d even been sleeping next to her in her hospital bed. But Chloe
had finally turned a corner, and seemed to be getting better. And now, I was awake,
and it was white-out quiet. Was I the only person awake in the hospital? In the
whole, snowy city?

My husband slept on a pull-out bed; the snowstorm had closed
his office for the day. I got out of bed, and Chloe stayed asleep. I tiptoed
around, and Chloe stayed asleep. I touched things gingerly like they would
break in my hands, and Chloe stayed asleep. I could’ve clomped around like an
elephant: She was absolutely, positively, mouth-hanging-open asleep.

It was about 6:45 am. Did I dare leave the room to get a
coffee and breakfast at Au Bon Pain in the lobby? I roused Brian enough to tell
him where I was going. Then I grabbed my wallet, cell phone, glasses, and a
thick novel, and practically ran out of the room. I stabbed the elevator button
with nervous excitement.

Escape to pastry heaven

Downstairs, bundled-up doctors and nurses arrived in heavy, snow-dusted coats and hats for their 7:00
am shifts. The floor was wet from snow being tracked inside, and puddles formed
where people stood for too long, like in front of the coffee carafes at Au Bon
Pain.

I loaded a tray with freshly squeezed orange juice; a flaky,
sweet-cheese croissant; a cup of French roast coffee; and a steaming bowl of
steel-cut Irish oatmeal topped with brown sugar and a drizzle of maple syrup. I
nestled myself into a booth with my decadent breakfast, snuggled into my
sweatshirt, and got lost in my novel. I had made an escape into a warm, sweet-smelling
world of pastry and coffee. I felt safe, calm, and content. And somehow, all of those feelings were concentrated into that bowl of nutty, steel-cut Irish oatmeal. It was hearty but sweet, nourishing but delicious. So
warm and satisfying, and exactly what I was craving. I’ve never had a food
match a feeling so closely.

I told Brian to call me when Chloe woke up, and expected my cell phone to ring at any second. But it never did. I stayed downstairs reading and
savoring my breakfast for almost two hours. When I finally finished my
coffee and closed my book, I felt as refreshed as if I’d just woken up from a long,
satisfying sleep.

Oatmeal made from Irish steel-cut oats isn’t like a typical
bowl of oatmeal. The more familiar oats that come in paper packets
or cardboard drums are rolled oats, and the oatmeal that they produce is either
gluey and gloppy or watery and loose, but always an icky gray color. Irish oats
look and taste more like barley, but without barley's sort of sad, tree-bark flavor. Irish oats come in a tin, and there’s only one
way to cook them: Slowly. In fact the “quick” cooking method involves soaking
them overnight.

But slowly doesn’t mean difficult. Irish oats are cooked in a
four-to-one ratio of water to oats; boil the water with a pinch of salt; add
the oats and simmer for 30 minutes. Stir occasionally; add a bit more water if
they look thirsty along the way. Eat them immediately or refrigerate for tomorrow morning (loosen them with a little milk, and they reheat beautifully in the microwave). To serve, top with anything: Dried fruit, granola, maple
syrup, a sprinkling of brown sugar, slivered nuts, a splash of cream or buttermilk (a traditional topping). They’re creamy and nutty,
and have a satisfying little pop when you chew them. Curled up on the couch
with a fuzzy blanket and bowl of warm Irish oatmeal? I can’t think of a better
winter morning.

May the road rise up to meet you
May the wind be always at your back
May the sun shine warm on your face
And rains fall soft upon your fieldsAnd until we meet againMay god hold you in the palm of his hand